


Confessions Are Hard

by Grigori_girl



Category: Soul Eater
Genre: Agent/Spy AU, Alternate Universe, Canon Compliant, Disney Worker AU, F/M, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-11
Updated: 2017-12-05
Packaged: 2018-03-17 08:19:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 14,291
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3522092
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Grigori_girl/pseuds/Grigori_girl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dumping ground for one-shots of the SoMa variety.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Duende

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Duende; Unusual power to attract or charm.

She always called to him. She always would.

Even if she didn’t know it herself.

\--

They’d met when they were kids, just children joining an army or a family, he wasn’t sure which. On the outside, he didn’t think much of her. She didn’t look like much, to be honest, but then again, neither did he. Despite their initial misgivings, their soul’s managed to match--no matter how crookedly they did so. It took them a long time to find their rhythm.

He supposed she called to him even then, the music, the very beat of her soul drawing him in; hook, line, and sinker. Long before they’d even made a full resonance. Maybe even before they met. Was it crazy to think that their souls were old friends? He liked to think it wasn’t. If he and a bunch of his friends could change into weapons, if they could hunt down grotesque creatures that nightmares were made of for a living, he liked to believe that it wasn’t insane for his soul and Maka’s to be much older than their containers.

Those kind of thoughts were too mushy, he knew, and BlackStar would immediately revoke his bro-card if he ever brought it up.

He didn’t care, personally, if no one else thought the same way. It made sense to him, and that’s what mattered. It was the only way he could wrap his mind around how absolutely...he didn’t even have the words to describe how she made him feel. At home? Comfortable? Safe? _Loved_? He tried not to entertain that last one, thoughts of his meister screaming into the phone with her mother on the other end streaming into the forefront of his mind.

That was not a good night in the Evans-Albarn household.

Her music was sad that night, heartbroken and devastated. He never liked that tune, it’s slow and shattered melodies quietly serenading his soul as she cried a few doors over. He tried to help, gently playing her favorite song until she finally drifted off, both her sniffles and her usual symphony going silent.

He never told her that her song was one only for _her_ , that her soul had created it inside his own.

Shame such beautiful notes could never be produced on any instrument, but he was selfish, and the fact made him happy. He was glad the most glorious of all songs could only be heard by the two of them, the soundtrack of their lives belonging to them and them alone.

He wondered if she felt the same.

Underneath it all--his cool bravado and her fearless masquerade--they still relied on one another.  
Without the constant melody, they very well may have fallen apart long ago.

He didn’t like to think about his soul going quiet.

He would die a thousand times to keep her song still playing.

\--

Little did Soul know, though, is that she would do the same.

She didn’t want to live in a world with a quiet Soul.


	2. Brontide

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brontide; The low rumbling of distant thunder.

She wasn’t necessarily proud of it, she knew she was being irrational, but as the thunder boomed and the flimsy walls rattled with it’s force, mixed with the distant sounds of her mother’s screams and her father’s pleas and the final sound of the slamming of a front door, every rational thought flew out the window.

She would never admit it--she was Maka Fucking Albarn, for Death’s sake--but, the fact remains.

She was terrified of thunderstorms.

\--

This was a little known fact, even BlackStar being unaware, but she supposed it was for the best. So what if she sat cowering in her room the entire night? Soul slept soundly and her reputation remained intact, a lost night’s sleep was a little price to pay. As long as she was never found out, that is, but Soul was a heavy sleeper and Blair didn’t think anything of it because she was cowering under the covers as well.

The only thing to ever tip anyone off might’ve been the especially sour mood she would be before the storm itself, the way she’d give little fearful glances at the gradually darkening horizon, but her attitude would be chalked up to ‘lady problems’ and she could easily cover her case of shifty eyes with an offhanded comment about how ‘wow that storm seems to be moving in quick huh’.

Crazy that she’d ever think her partner would remain oblivious forever.

So, it’s safe to say she was more than a little startled during the latest storm, as if the constant booming bass of the thunder and it’s crackling accompaniment wasn’t bad enough, when the light knock at her door nearly scared her out of her skin. “Maka? You awake-?” Came Soul’s hushed whisper as he cracked her door, a ruby-red eye peeking in before the door swung open the rest of the way.

One look at her all cocooned in three different comforters and tear tracks marking her face, he was at her side in an instant, careful hands hesitant as they hovered over her, unsure. “Are you okay? What happened?” He still spoke in his hushed tone, worried to startle her even more. She sniffed and pulled her blankets tighter.

“Nothing. ‘M fine.” He’d only just caught her before she’d managed to retreat into her blanket burrito, his hand carefully touching the dried streaks on her cheek. She sighed and closed her eyes, unconsciously leaning into his hand.

“It’s the storm.” She muttered after a moment. He nodded, his thumb rubbing languidly across her cheekbone.

“M’kay. Scooch over.” Dark green flashed as lightning lit up the dark and she flinched.

“What?”

Soul nudged her with his knee, “Scooch. Lemme sit down-or do you expect me to stand all night?” Maka gaped at him before sputtering some half-hearted attempt to tell him ‘to get his ass back to bed- no, Soul, dammit go to bed- ugh fine, shit-! ow get your knee out of my ribs!’. Another booming rattle startled her so badly she nearly yanked him into her protective little fort.

Three potential bruises later, and they were both situated in her blanket burrito, Maka somehow ending up sideways in his lap. She tried not to think about it. Mostly because he forgot a shirt and wow he was really warm and- Yep, totally not thinking about it.

“Y’wanna talk about it?” He yawned, her head resting on his shoulder with his cheek against her forehead while his hand played with hers blindly, his other wrapped loosely around her waist. She gave a quick shake of her head, eyes downcast to his fingers, watching as they twined and twisted with her own. “Alright.”

She couldn’t help but to think hers looked almost clumsy in comparison.

“You should get some sleep.” Soul mumbled in her ear, and her body was too tired to register how his breath felt ghosting over her skin. He was warm, she was tired, and the reassuring thrumming of his soul nestled against hers was more than enough to lull her to sleep.


	3. Feel-y Feels

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt; "This is without a doubt the stupidest plan you've ever had. I'm in."

"So, are you in or not?"

"Well...you're gonna do it with or without me, aren't you?"

"Probably, yeah. But it'd be more fun if you came with me." He was silent for a long moment, red eyes calculating as he chewed on his cheek thoughtfully. "C'mon," she nearly whined from her place outside his window, the shingles of the porch's roof digging into her knees. "Fulfill the final wish of a dying girl."

His jaw tightened and his eyes hardened, but he didn't comment on her teasing. "This is without a doubt the stupidest plan you've ever had…"

"But are you in?"

"Of course I'm in."

After almost an hour of driving, it dawned on him.

"How, exactly, do you plan on sneaking into Disneyland?"

She shot him a half-hearted grin, "It's not like it's even the real Disneyland." She snorted, "DC doesn't even have a Walmart." Maka didn't give him a real answer for awhile, so long he didn't think she was going to, but she gave him a sidelong glance before slamming the palms of her hands against the steering wheel in mild frustration. "Fuck if I know. I'll figure it out when we get there."

Well.

That was a valid plan.

He supposed for someone with so little time, it would be sensible to not waste a single second of it, even if it was to have some semblance of an idea of how to go about this ridiculous scheme. Whatever. This was her night. Every night belonged to her, if he was honest. He'd willingly follow her to the ends of the earth if she asked. Hell, even if she didn't. She had him, hook line and sinker, ever since he was twelve and she was eleven and she still wore her hair in those little pigtails and when nobody talked to him because he was the weird shark kid.

He risked a glance at her face, hoping she wasn't actually mad at him for pointing out the flaw in her plan...or lack thereof. Maka's eyes were trained on the road, her hands white knuckled on the wheel as they sped down the highway. She was breaking, he could tell, her carefully kept guise chipping away into nothing. In all honesty, he wasn't sure anyone bought it. When a girl, whos perfect in every sense of the word, suddenly comes down with a disease that will end her life, the key word being _will_ not _if;_ there isn't any possible way she could remain the same. She didn't, she wasn't, but nobody else knew. Because when it was three in the afternoon, she was cheer captain Maka Albarn, who would live forever at the top of the world with only the distant cosmos in her way, but _that_ Maka Albarn was different from the one he knew. The Maka he had come to know came to his bedroom at three in the morning, tears streaming down her face because her insides hurt and she couldn't sleep and the sound of her mother's angry screams rang in her head.

When they finally pulled to a stop, her hardened expression was gone, replaced with the anticipation she'd had once before. Maka clapped her hands together before she pulled a ski mask over her face, her eyes crinkling at the corners behind the mask as she smiled. "C'mon! We don't have all night!" Her car door slammed before he could respond and he sighed into the emptiness of her car.

When he finally pried himself from her car, after five minutes of assuring himself that he didn't have much of a future anyway so a little breaking and entering wouldn't hurt, she was already standing in front of the towering front gate hefting what looked like a giant pair of pliers in her hands.

"Where the fuck did you get bolt cutters?" She shrugged as she positioned the snips over a rusted chain link.

"Papa wants me to be prepared for anything."

"What does he think you'd need those for?"

"Oh, he was specific for these, but let's just say he didn't have any...practical uses in mind."

With the look she gave him, he got the idea, and he was cringing with imaginary pain. "Theres no mercy in that man."

"Absolutely none."

The cutters clipped through the metal easily, and she tossed the broken chain aside with a clatter. She kicked the doors open with a booted foot as she tore off the ski mask, tossing it aside with the discarded chain as she took off running down the cobblestone walkways. A small, sad smile tugged at his lips as he followed her slowly, his hands shoved deep in his pockets. Maka's scream didn't startle him, it didn't even make him pick up his pace. It wasn't a scream of terror or angst, but one of a dying girl wishing to be freed and needing the broken silence and the rawness of her throat to remind her that she was alive, even if it was only for now.

When he finally caught up to her, she was sprawled in the middle of an intersection, signs towering above her casting shadows on her face as they pointed to destinations far away in lands that didn't belong to them, in lands that didn't belong to a dying girl and a cynical insomniac, but maybe to the people they used to be.

Soul laid down beside her, his head pillowed on his hands as he stared up at the sky. They were silent for a time. He didn't know how long, just that the moon moved a few extra feet across the expanse of the sky while he listened to the beautiful sound of her breathing.

God knows how long he has left to hear it.

"Y'know," She whispered into the night. "I'm scared. I'm really fucking scared." He didn't answer. She wasn't done. He would never speak again if it meant she would forever. "I don't know why. Honestly I don't. I know what's coming, I have for months, but now…" She sighed, her breath turning into steam above her face. "Times almost up, Soul."

He moved his hand from behind his head and searched blindly for hers, intertwining their fingers as he pursed his lips. "Yeah...it is, isn't it?" Soul screwed his eyes shut and moved his other arm over them, hoping she didn't hear the crack in his voice. She squeezed his hand. "Are you...are you sure you don't want to do another surgery?" His voice was quiet. So, so quiet.

He could hear her shake her head, what's left of her hair shifting against the rock. "No. Yes-?" Another sigh. "I don't know. I...I feel like a burden, y'know? I'm tired of putting you guys through this. I'm tired of putting myself through this. My papa doesn't deserve this--any of it. I mean, yeah, he's kind of a bastard, but he doesn't deserve this. Neither do you." Maka rolled onto her side, dark green eyes shining in the light of the moon but unbelievably tired and worn--aged beyond her years. "I'm just...so tired."

Soul looked at her now, letting his arm fall from his face to his stomach. She did look tired, but not physically. She had this soul-deep weariness residing in her eyes, but it wasn't alone in it's residency. Fear. Anger. Hope. Love. He gave her hand another squeeze, his thumb rubbing circles into the back of her hand. She was beautiful, honestly. Half her head was shaven, a long jagged scar running along the side. She was gorgeous. Ethereal. He didn't think anything could ever change that. "Do you think your dad deserves to lose the only person he has left? His only daughter?" He whispered, afraid of speaking too loud and turning her to dust. "You mean the world to him. As much as he annoys the hell outta me, I really don't want to see what would happen if you…" His eyes refocused on her face, and her lip was trapped between her teeth, a little line had formed between her brows. She was thinking. Hard. "Do you think I deserve to lose you?"

He immediately felt bad for saying it.

Her eyes snapped to his face, a blazing forest in her irises. 

He tried not to notice the moisture gathered there, failed, and he rolled on his side so he could place his hand on her face. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have-"

"No. You're right." She closed her eyes and leaned into his palm, "I'm being selfish. I...I want to, y'know, not die." Maka' brow furrowed tighter, the crease between them becoming more pronounced, before smoothing away completely. She breathed deeply for a moment, her eyelids moving as her eyes rolled beneath them. "Alright," she whispered, opening her eyes again--a harsh glare of determination set there. "I'll do the surgery. I'll call Stein as soon as I get home."

Soul nodded, letting out a breath he didn't realize he had been holding. In the deepest parts of his cheesy, mushy, romance filled heart, he thought about kissing her and holding her and maybe falling asleep in her arms--never to move again. Just as he was about to actually commit to one of those ideas, a god-awful light shined in her eyes.

"Wha-?"

"Hey! What the hell do you think you're doing?! This is private property!"

"Shit."

"Run!" Maka leapt to her feet, their hands still intertwined, and she took off on a dead sprint before his ass got off the ground. Soul could hear the officer's boots pounding along behind them, not showing signs of slowing down.

Fuck, fuck, fuck-

"Maka Albarn, I know it's you!" She faltered half a step, but didn't slow down. Figures she'd be caught. At least it wasn't her dad, that would've been bad for everyone. Well, it would've been bad for _him_.

He knew Spirit had no qualms about putting those bolt cutters to good use.

Soul ran faster, surpassing Maka in sheer panic as the thought of losing a certain appendage before it ever got put to good use nipped at his heels.

"This was the absolute, worst plan you've ever had!"

Her laugh rang loud and clear in the otherwise silent night as they hurdled a shrub, making a beeline for her car, "Yeah, but you're the one who came along!"

Of course he did. He'd always tag along, as long as she'd have him.


	4. SoMa Week Day One; Geeking Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Literally the only day of SoMa week I was able to participate in this year.
> 
> Update: There's fanart! https://amynchan.deviantart.com/art/Lightsaber-571623286

“Okay class, seeing as its your first day, we’ll start off with something easy--transforming.” A collection of various cheers and shouts of assent clamored over each other into a cacophony of sound; freshmen talking animatedly with each other and sophomores talking breezily. Soul put his fingers to his lips and whistled, “Everyone quiet down!” The room quickly went silent, a few first years glancing nervously between each other. “Thank you, now, if you would do me the honor of splitting up into groups, we can get started.”

\--

After having the students split off into groups: bladed weapons in one corner, long ranged weapons in another, firearms in the center, and various other weapons close to the door--Soul rubbed his hands together, eager to see the new batch of weapons. “Now, I know for a fact some of you here can do full transformations already, and I know there are bound to be some of you here that can’t, and that’s perfectly fine.” He shuffled through a small stack of papers in his hands, red eyes scanning over the list of his students’ names. “Hm, alright. I’ll start with bladed weapons first, seeing as you’re the largest group, and then I’ll work my way from there. When I call your name, please come to the front and transform.”

In the back, a small hand shot up immediately, and Soul resisted the urge to roll his eyes. “Yes?”

“You’re not just gonna let us drop to the floor, are you? I mean, I know it won’t necessarily hurt but-still…” She trailed off, her hand slowly dropping back down to her side as she shifted under his glower.

Just as he opened his mouth, the door popped open, his wife poking her head in after it. “Did someone call for a meister?” Maka said with a large grin, slipping through the door and slyly wiggling her fingers in greeting at the kids. All of them smiled widely, whispering to each other excitedly about one of the legendary meisters of Spartoi.

She whispered a quiet ‘hi’ in his ear before planting a kiss on his cheek, proceeding to skip merrily out to the center of the room, heels clicking against the marble as the room once again became silent in anticipation. “Hello everyone! For those of you who may not know, I’m Scythe Meister Maka Evans, although you may know me as Maka Albarn, but you all can just call me Maka-Sensei. I’ll be here to assist you in your transformations!” She pulled on her signature gloves, pulling them tight over nail and knuckle and bone. Her hands clapped together and she smiled once more, “Let’s get started!”

-

 

The session went along smoothly, the children transforming smoothly and landing lightly into Maka’s awaiting palms. She gave them a twirl or two, feeling their weight in her hands and doing a quick practice with them before letting them wander back to their seats, grinning widely at having been wielded by the great Maka Albarn, even if it was only for a moment. As for the kids who couldn’t transform just yet, Soul carefully walked them through it, giving them encouragement until they finally managed to do so, then sent them on their way like the others.

When they were getting down to the last few remaining weapons, it came to be, as his roster read, Erica’s turn. She was tall and willowy, reminding him of Tsubaki back when they were the same age, though her mousy brown hair was piled on the back of her head in a floppy bun and her eyes were a dark brown behind her glasses.

She stepped up at the call of her name, her fingers playing with the hem of her uniform’s skirt. “U-Uhm, Last DeathScythe-Sensei, um, sir, I- I don’t know how to fully transform...yet.” Her small voice fading out into a whisper at the end, her gaze never daring to meet his own.

“That’s alright, Erica. I’ll just take you through the same steps I did with the others, okay?” She nodded, and he gave a small smile as Maka gave her hand a small squeeze of reassurance before letting the girl have her space. “Just close your eyes, and imagine the weapon within you.” Her eyes slipped shut at his command, her hands fisting in the fabric of her skirt. “Imagine the strength, and the power behind it, resting in your soul.” The class watched on in silence, an audible sound of everyone simultaneously shifting forward as the air around her began to shimmer--the beginnings of a transformation. “Now, bring that out. Take hold of the weapon in your soul and welcome it. It’s a part of you, like your heart or your lungs.” Her dark skin began to shimmer, the air around her beginning to take on an orange tint. “It is not an animal, it’s nothing for you to fear or to tame. It’s sole purpose is to serve you, to become you--allow it to do so.”

With a snap, and a crackle like lightning, she disappeared in a flash of bright orange light, only to land in Maka’s awaiting hand. Without checking to see her weapon form, he looked at his roster, marking her name off the list. “Very well done, Miss Garcia-” His praise died in his throat when he looked up, meeting his wife’s same stunned expression before looking back down to the weapon in her hand.

A lightsaber.

Erica--timid, shy, little Erica--was a fucking lightsaber.

A. Mother. Fucking. Lightsaber.

The papers slipped from Soul’s hand and fluttered to the floor. He knew his mouth was gaping like a fish out of water but he couldn’t seem to find it in him to care or to close it.

He couldn’t believe it. A lightsaber. In his class.

A lightsaber in general, actually, what the hell? He was under the impression that you could be an actual, non-fictional weapon.

But apparently not.

Man, was he jealous. Yes, he loved being a scythe--it fit him perfectly--but a fucking lightsaber would be _so cool_.

Soul’s inner nerd was screaming and, he could tell, so was Maka’s. Her soul was singing in amazement and excitement and awe. A silent nudge from him, and she sprang into action, flipping and slicing through the air--all which included the signature sound from the movies.

Soul’s knees nearly buckled in nerdy-excitement.

“A lightsaber,” His soul nearly crooned in time with Maka’s.

Once Maka’s feet finally touched the ground again, Erica transformed to stand beside her, a dark blush peppering over her cheeks.

The room was silent for a beat. Two.

Then it erupted into applause and cheers and hoots, all of her fellow classmates nearly vibrating in amazement. Soul couldn’t help but to join in, looking over to find Maka already talking animatedly with her--her hands gesturing wildly as she spoke. Erica fidgeted under her intense gaze and the resounding cheers behind her, shifting from foot to foot.

The bell rang loudly, and Soul dismissed the class with a lamely muttered ‘finish up tomorrow’, and the class streamed out--their conversations still focused around the girl who could turn into a lightsaber. Erica left last, finding her chance at escape when Soul diverted Maka’s attention long enough for her to slip out. The second the door shut behind her, Soul and Maka’s hands in his, staring into the shimmering emerald of her eyes.

“How fucking cool was that?! You have to tell me! What's it like to wield a lightsaber? Oh Death, it has to be amazing Maka you're the fucking coolest person I know holy shit- do you know what this means!?” She grinned goofily at him, her system still thrumming with leftover adrenaline, and she shook her head.

“I dunno. What?”

“My wife was the first person to wield a lightsaber.”


	5. “wtf you’re not my roommate, how did you get in here? oh sHIT you’re really drunk aND NOW YOU’RE CRYING OKay okay it’s okay shhhh, you can stay here i guess??” au

It was well past three in the morning when she heard a crash and a colorful string of curses come from the living room, her hands automatically fisting in her sheets and her body going rigid as she listened for more. Low mumbling drifted back down the hall, it’s source still being from the front room. Silently, Maka slipped out of her bed, barefeet padding across the plush carpeting as she grabbed her trusty baseball bat from beside her bookshelf. As quietly as she could manage, she edged open her door, and tiptoed down the hall. The closer she got to the living room, the more she could make out of what the intruder was saying. “Fucking dumb table,” He muttered, the sound of her coffee table scratching across the hardwood chasing after his words. With a small sigh of relief, Maka’s grip on the bat loosened, and she allowed to droop by her side one-handed. It was Blake, of course. That idiot did say he was going out tonight, though she hadn’t expected him to stay out so late on a weekday. She might as well help him get his sorry ass into bed so he could begin to sleep it off.

Maka rounded the corner without hesitation, her hand easily finding the light switch and flicking on the artificial glow. “Blake, you seriously can’t keep coming home this late-” She clenched her eyes against the light for a moment, but when she opened them, she found someone who...was decidedly _not_ her roommate, his hand held up against the sudden brightness of the room. With a scream, she swung the bat up over she shoulder, prepared to take a swing as he stuck out his own hands placatingly.

“Wait!” He cried, eyes wide in panic and hair a shock of white, though it’s color didn’t seem to stem from age.

“Get out!” Maka screeched, small chest heaving in her panic as she brandished her bat. If this guy wasn’t Blake, then where was her roommate? “H-how did you get in here!?”

“Wait!” He repeated, seeming to stumble over the word just a little. “Wait! I-I just,” He sniffled, covering his face with his hands. Holy shit, was...was he crying? Maka’s grip wavered for a second, uncertainty washing over her features. Maybe this was some kind of ploy to lower her guard. He let out a sudden wail, head thrown back and mouth open wide to reveal sharp teeth as tears snaked down his cheeks.

“Woah, okAY SHHH!” She dropped the bat unceremoniously as she stepped towards the stranger, hands waving in a sad attempt to calm him down. “Hey! Hey, it’s okay! You can stay here, I guess!?” He was going to wake up her neighbors, and quite frankly, she didn't want to explain why she had a drunk stranger crying in her living room at three in the morning. After five more minutes of reassurances and tired pleas, she was able to calm him down to mere sniffles as she tucked him in on her couch.

“I’m sorry,” He whimpered into the pillow, sounding like it came from a waterlogged cat rather than a grown man. “I thought this was m-my place, b-but I don’t even think I’m in the right b-building.” She shushed him for the nth time that night, hand rubbing soothing circles into his _ooo muscled_ back as she perched herself in the edge of the sofa.  
“It’s alright, you can crash here tonight, okay?” The man nodded into the pillow, tear stains glaring against the fabric as he moved his head to look at her. Somehow, Maka managed to flash him a small smile. “What’s your name?”

He closed his, surprisingly _red_ , eyes, and she thought he’d have fallen asleep, but he’d answered her with, “Soul.” He said it more like a sigh as his body relaxed into the cushions and he began to snore lightly.

Fantastic. Not only did she have a drunken stranger crashing on her couch, he cried for ten minutes and can’t remember his real name. Oh, and her actual roommate was nowhere to be found.

With a sigh, Maka pushed herself off the couch, back cracking as she did so, and resigned herself to the fact that BlackStar was probably lying in a ditch somewhere, when the very same idiot crashed through the door, followed by a loud, slurred “YAHOO!” and the reek of Four Loko.

“WAIT! SHIT, MAN. SOUL IS THAT YOU?” Blake yelled, just before he tripped over the throw rug.

Maka began to ask every god she knew of what she had done to deserve this as Soul woke up and started crying again, causing Blake to join in with ‘manly tears for a fallen brother’.


	6. Tell Me A Secret

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> tumblr prompt

They're laying in the dark, limbs tangled and her head pillowed on his chest. His fingers draw lazy designs into her skin, his touch light, trailing goosebumps in its wake. She's perfectly content to listen to the steady _thump thump_ of his heart, but she's been too quiet for his liking. He's tired of the silence between them. So, into the quiet of their bedroom, he says, "Tell me something."

"What do you want to hear?" She whispers back, her hand twining with his free one.

He thinks for a moment, a million and one things he wishes for her to say flits across his mind, but they wouldn't mean a thing if he asked for them. So, he settles for something easy. "Tell me a secret."

She doesn't stiffen, she doesn't react, but instead she casually says, "Have I ever told you about the kid I killed?"

His fingers still over her shoulder blade, brows pulled together in confusion as he hums a 'no'.

A small laugh escapes her then, really more just an rough exhale than something of amusement. "No, that's right. I haven't told anyone." She pauses for a long moment, and he feels her jaw set. "Do you remember when you were reassigned to Oceania?" He nodded, easily remembering how hard those few months had been. "And how, while you were gone, I had been assigned a temporary weapon?" She doesn't wait for him to reply, plowing forward before she lost steam. "He was just a kid, really. Kinda reminded of Tsugumi, now that I think of it, though he was a long sword." Soul's stomach bottomed out with dread. The kid _was_ a long sword? "We were sent out to this little town in...Oklahoma? Nebraska? I can't remember." She took in a shuddering breath, her hand squeezing his with nothing short of a death grip. "It was supposed to be routine. A little one or two star egg, no biggie, but...when we got there, the town was empty. Totally abandoned, probably for a long time too. Then, here comes the kishin, screaming and swinging its arms." Maka shifts, and the mattress squeaks. "We take it down easy, of course. The kid transforms back, right? He eats the soul, and he's telling me...some story about him and his friends, I think, when I feel it."

He feels her soul constrict slightly, as if it were pulling away from the memory. "A rogue witch. Her lair must've been in the old mine shaft, or something. Anyway, as soon as she takes off her Soul Protect, I feel it, and I just tackle the kid to the ground. Her attack flies right over us, but it ended up catching my shoulder anyway." As she says it, his fingers find the scar--short and thick, definitely one he never patched up. "Her magic was manipulation, it didn't really work too well because of my wavelength, but I could feel the kid slipping. Our resonance wasn't high enough, I would guess, and he tried to attack me." She shuts her eyes and sighs, body tensing against the thought. "Long story short--I end up putting him in an upper torso, forcing as much of my wavelength as I can into him, but...I guess I was so focused on _saving_ him, I didn't feel the magic weasel into my head." Hot tears fall onto his chest, and Soul gently tilts Maka's face toward his own.

She stubbornly refuses to look at him, squeezing her eyes shut in an attempt to shut him out. "Maka...it wasn't your fault-"

"I snapped his neck, Soul."

"What?"

Maka looks at him then, tears still streaking down her cheeks as her eyes burn with self-hatred. "It was my fault. He was only sixteen and I snapped his neck like a twig because I _failed_ and I _couldn't keep it together_. I _killed_ , I- I _murdered_ a little boy!"

Soul gathered her into his arms, sitting up and cradling her to his chest as they rocked. "Hey, it wasn't your fault, you hear me?" He hissed into her hair, clutching her to his chest as if she might disappear. Maka cried into his shoulder, her fingers digging into the skin of his back as she sobbed. "It's okay. It's alright, I promise." He soothed, gently rubbing her back as she calmed. She gave a final sniffle before she buried her face into his neck, her eyelashes fluttering against his pulse.

"Hey, Soul?"

"Yeah, Maka?"

"Tell me a secret."


	7. Spy/Agent Au

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt; "You look like a dried up grape!"

Sometimes, he really starts to question his profession and what led him to where he was today. How many wrong or right decisions has he made to land him here? Did he do something in a past life to warrant his position in his current one? Something so horrible(ly amazing) that it would land him the most stubborn partner in their entire sector?

* * *

They told him on his first day that he had better hope and pray to whatever god he believed in that he never got saddled with Maka Albarn, codename ‘The Grigori’. Now, Soul never figured himself as the religious type, but by every god there ever was, when he witnessed first hand what happened when Maka Fucking Albarn was pissed- he clasped his hands together every night and prayed to every divine being that he wouldn't be so unlucky as to have her become his partner. But, as his luck would inevitably have it, he was officially partnered with her on his second week on the job- thereby being promoted from desk jockey to field agent.

Her first words to him, or rather, _about_ him weren’t exactly encouraging. Not even three minutes in, and she gave him a quick once over, impossibly green eyes scrutinizing and cataloging faster than even their best computer. “Nope.” She said simply, arms crossed over her chest and hip cocked defiantly, as if she knew she was in for a fight. Hell, he thought she was out of her damn mind to even begin to argue with their superior--a six-foot-something monster of a man with grey hair and a savage scar dancing a jagged line down his face--but, she seemed completely prepared to defend her case.

“And why is that?” The man asked calmly, never looking up as he carefully filled out one of the many forms spread out across his messy desk. “Soul here is a perfectly capable agent and you’d be lucky to be paired with someone like him.” Despite how encouraging his words probably should’ve been, they sounded long-winded and worn, as if he’s had to repeat them for more than enough agents who were, in fact, not perfectly capable.

Maka blew a raspberry and rolled her eyes, an extremely childish move for such a honored and decorated agent, he thought. “Yeah, that’s what you said about Tsugumi. And Hiro. And Kim.” She sighed and shifted her weight to her other foot, continuing to completely disregard Soul’s presence. “Look, I’m sure he’s great and he’ll find something in the bureau that’ll fit him perfectly and yada yada yada, whatever else Mr. Mortimer wants to tell the newbies, but we all know that I work alone, and for good reason.”

Finally, the man, Frank Stein, as his desk plaque said, looked up--tired olive hues staring blankly over silver-rimmed glasses. “And that reason is-?” He droned, though the slightest hint of a curve to his mouth suggested he knew exactly why she refused a partner. “Is it because you’re reckless and stubborn and no sane agent would ever want to work with you?” Maka’s face flushed with indignation, her fists clenching as she opened her mouth to argue, but Stein plowed forward. “Is it because of your blatant trust issues?” Somehow, Maka’s face managed to burn an even deeper shade of red, and Soul felt the cold finger of secondhand embarrassment sweep down his spine. “Or is it because of your last partner? What was his name?” He paused for a split second to lift a paper on his desk and read the one beneath it, “Icarus?”

In hindsight, Soul probably should’ve known that slap was coming.

The sound was sharp and raw, and it echoed in the tiny office. Stein’s head snapped to the right, and angry red hand already beginning to swell over his cheekbone. Maka’s entire body quivered like a bowstring pulled too tight, her jaw set and her eyes shining yet hard. Slowly, she straightened herself, carefully tightening her tie and pulling meticulously at her gloves. She was reigning in her cool, he could tell, desperately trying to keep it together and save face. Quietly she said, “Icarus was his code name, you know that, and we do not use the dead as weapons against fellow agents. That kind of attitude will tear this organization apart.” She sounded as if she were reading straight from a manual, yet he could see how much those words meant to her, even if they weren’t her own. Without another word to her superior, she turned on her heel and strode to the door, opening it she paused in the doorway, turning her head to him yet not raising her gaze to his face. “I’ll see you bright and early tomorrow morning, I want you well rested and ready to go. You’re dismissed, agent Evans. Go home, and speak to no one of this.” With that, she left.

Soul looked back to Stein, only to find him once again scribbling at his papers- swollen hand print marring his non-scarred cheek. Instead of allowing him to flounder in silence, Stein spoke up. “All she needed was a little push, Evans. You’ll need to learn that as her partner. Now, you heard the girl--go home, and speak to no one.”

* * *

So, needless to say his first month alone was a bit of roller-coaster, but he managed. Somehow, he and Maka even became friends. Best friends, actually. He’s known as a legend amongst the lower ranking agents, but that’s his own little victory that he doesn’t tell Maka about.

Now, though, after sitting in Liz’s make-up chair for the past _four_ hours he’s pretty sure he and Maka have grown closer. In age, maybe. Because when he looks over as she slips out of Patty’s chair, she looks nothing like the spunky twenty-two year old that he knows and loves. She looks like she’s four days past ninety, complete with receding hairline and liver spots. He’s sure he looks no better, as she starts giggling as soon as she sees him.

“Well, am I hot or am I _hot_?” He asks, holding his newly wrinkled hands out as he turns in a circle. Maka cackles quietly, wheezing as she bends over and clutches her stomach.

“You- You look the same!” She laughs, barely able to spit out her insult around her giggles as Liz and Patty join in too.

He feels his face heat up under all of the make-up. All of the grandpa jokes have finally come so far as to make him look like an elderly man in his twenties. Deep in his heart, he believes Stein hand-picked this assignment, just to torture him. “Yeah?” He laughs, unable to deal with how life-like the flabby skin under Maka’s chin is. “Well, you look like a dried up grape!”

That has all of them cackling manically, Soul and Maka’s newfound extra skin making for great joke material as it jiggles and sways with their laughter.


	8. Disney Workers Au

"I'm paired with _who_?"

"Um, Soul Evans..." The intern gulped, clutching her clipboard to her chest as her co-worker fumed. "Miss Maka, why is it such a big deal? I-I mean, all of his paperwork says he's great with the children, and he's never had a complaint filed against him.."

Maka whirled, green eyes blazing and too long wig swinging dangerously close to her make-up desk. "What's the _big deal_?" She hissed, hands balled into fists at her sides. "Soul is a snarky asshole who cares more about getting money than the children themselves! The only reason he plays nice is because he knows he'll get a raise if his record stays clean- ugh!" She threw up her hands in exasperation, proceeding to rage about her dressing room once more.

"Well, as long as he's nice to the kids, who cares what his motives are...right?" Tsugumi said in a small voice, carefully dodging Maka's swinging braid of doom.

"No! That's not the point!" She groaned as she turned on her heel and began pacing, hands gesturing wildly as she ranted. "If his heart isn't in it, why should he even _be_ here!? Kids dream their _entire lives_ about coming here, and if they get some half-assed performance from their person that's supposed to be their idol, then they'll leave here with a broken heart with crushed dreams! That's not what Disneyland is about!"

The intern sighed, resigned to the fact that there was virtually no way to calm her down. As she edged to the door, she sneaked a glance at her watch, "Alright, well you have to be out there in less than five minutes so-" When the actress didn't pay attention, Tsugumi put her fingers to her lips and whistled, high and piercing. _That_ got her attention. She held up her hand, "Five. Minutes."

And with that, she slammed the door shut.

* * *

Maka was out of the dressing room in four. Make-up spectacular, smile dazzling, dress immaculate, and wig perfectly styled; in that moment she was no longer righteously pissed-off Maka Albarn, but sweet princess Rapunzel. Who was in love with Eugene, aka Flynn Rider. Aka Soul Evans. Aka Asshole Extraordinaire. Great.

With a slight shake of her head, Maka made her way to her designated area for the day, mere moments before the floodgates opened and a wave of screaming children surged through. Still no sight of Soul. Maka grit her teeth, as she glanced around for him, but quickly smoothed her features as two children came running. "Hi~!" She exclaimed happily as she bent down to the children's level, a boy dressed as a pirate and a girl in a little dress that looked much like her own. "How're you today, little princess?" Maka asked sweetly, watching with satisfaction as the child's face broke into a wide smile. The girl became so flustered she couldn't speak, so Maka flashed her another warm smile and looked to the little boy. "What about you, dear swashbuckler? I hope you aren't here to steal my crown." She joked with a wink, and the boy giggled.

"Dear princess, I do believe this is yours."

Maka whipped around to find Soul, immaculately dressed as Flynn Rider, carefully placing a tiara on the little girl's head. Her hand flew to her own head, only to find her crown gone. "Eugene! I've been looking for you everywhere!" She said playfully, feigning true concern for her fake husband's whereabouts.

The little girl blushed in the face of Soul, who was, admittedly, too handsome for his own good.

The little boy, leaped in front of Maka, plastic sword shining in the sunlight as he held it out menacingly towards Soul. "Don't fear, princess!" The boy exclaimed, "I'll get your crown back!" Maka choked back a laugh as she crouched down behind the boy, gently placing her hands on his little shoulders, as if she were hiding behind him.

"Oh, please do, Mr. Pirate!" She said woefully in his ear, flashing a wicked grin at Soul's surprised expression. "Eugene must know better than to take my crown!"

Soul himself whipped out his own fake sword, and set to work with a fake fight with the little boy, allowing himself to be backed into a corner and forced to surrender. Meanwhile, the little girl edged her way over and offered the crown back bashfully. "Here you go, princess."

Maka smiled at the girl, and took her crown back and placed it on her head. "Thank you, little princess." She looked back to see Soul kneel before the boy and beg for mercy- the boy being so kind as to sheath his sword and bring Soul back alive. Maka looked to the little girl, "You have a very brave prince of your own."

"He's not a prince, he's my brother! And he's a pirate!" The girl cried, lips in a pout and fists on her hips.

"Well, you have a very brave pirate brother." Maka allowed, tilting her head a little as man wearing a plastic crown approached, Soul and the little boy in tow.

For a moment, Maka felt herself panic, afraid that Soul had done something to piss off the children's parent-until, she seen the man's face, that is. She stood as they approached, and the little girl tore herself away and threw herself into the man's awaiting arms. "Daddy!"

Kilik smiled as he hefted his daughter into his arms, casually strolling over to where Maka stood. Without hesitation, she flashed another smile at the girl, Thunder, she remembered, and said, "Is this the king of your castle, little princess?"

"It's a pleasure to meet you, dear Princess Rapunzel." Kilik said with a shit-eating grin, and the best bow he could manage while balancing a six year old on his arm. Maka forced herself not to do something brash.

With a curtsy, Maka bowed her head, "And the same to you, King Kilik."

"Hey! How come you know my daddy's name?!" The little pirate, Fire, asked accusingly as he moved to his father's side-his little hand in Kilik's big one.

Maka blanched, for once at a loss for words as she realized she shouldn't know their dad. Thankfully, Soul appeared at her side, hand settling on her waist in a comfortable gesture that would be normal for a couple with a fairy tail sort of love. "Why, King Kilik is known far and wide for his kindness and riches!" Soul looked at Maka with a conspiratorial wink and said, " _Especially_ his riches."

Maka dug her elbow into his ribs and he winced, "Eugene!" She hissed in surprise, Kilik and the kids giggling at the display.

"I'm just joking!" He defended with a wry grin, rubbing his ribs gently. "Old habits die hard, you know." Again the children laughed, and then Fire spotted Peter Pan, and the two took off.

Soul removed his hand from her waist and crossed his arms, softly glaring at her as he prodded his rib cage. She ignored him and the small pang of something unnamed that missed his touch, instead opting to turn her attention to Kilik. "They've gotten so big!" She said with a smile, sidling up alongside him to watch the kids play with Peter Pan.

"Yeah, they just turned seven last week."

"You're kidding!" She said with true disbelief in her tone, "I swear it's like they were babies just yesterday."

"Oh, you have no idea how weird it is for me. They're able to _do_ things on their own now, and I'm totally not used to it."

Maka laughed, and Soul slowly found a way to worm his way into the conversation.

And so, after Kilik went off after his children, their day continued much as it usually would-kids came and went, parents watched on with mild amusement, and Maka played nice with the one person in the park she loathed almost as much as she did the event coordinator, Medusa.

After hobbling off the teacups, a little boy came and puked all over Soul's shoes, and almost an hour before her shift ended, Maka received a text from Harvar, letting her know the whole gang was going out for drinks. So, the day wasn't a complete bust, at least.

* * *

After scrubbing three pounds of makeup off her face, letting her real hair out of that godforsaken wig, and changing into a t-shirt and pair of jeans, Maka headed over to the Cackling Sun- a local beach side bar/grill the group often visited.

The sun was just beginning to sink past the horizon when she made her way to corner booth in the back, already crowded with most of her friends. Harvar moved and allowed her to scoot in next to Kim before taking his spot once again, his arm draping over the booth behind her. "Where's BlackStar and Tsubaki?"

Jackie, from her place beside Kim, leaned across the table and plucked a slice of pizza from the half-eaten pie at the center of the circular table. "Tsu just texted, they had to pick up Soul first."

Maka groaned, head thumping back against Harvar's arm. "Why does he have to come?"

"Well, sorry to break it to you, but just because you don't like him doesn't mean the rest of us have to." Kim said around a mouthful of pizza, her legs somehow draped over Jackie's under the table.

"Kim's right," Harvar said from her side, and she turned an accusing glare onto him.

Maka slumped in the booth, arms crossed and lip jutted out in a pout. "I thought you were supposed to be my friend."

He laughed and poked her sides-causing her wriggle back up into the seat. "Um, excuse you, I'm your _best_ friend, but that doesn't mean I'm going to be an enabler."

Maka groaned again, louder this time, and drew the stares of a sunburnt family of four. "Traitors, all of you."

Just as luck would have it, BlackStar arrived at that very moment, with a loud proclamation of, "Fear not, peasants, your God has arrived!" Various patrons groaned and the tourists all laughed and murmured amongst themselves. The bartender, a busty woman named Blair, threw a soaking wet rag that smacked him square in the face.

Tsubaki called out an apology as she grabbed her idiot boyfriend by the bicep and dragged him over to the table, still sputtering from under the washcloth on his face. With a roll of her eyes, she snatched it away and tossed it on a recently emptied table cluttered with dirty dishes. Sighing, she finally looked to her friends with a smile and scooted into the booth, "Hello everyone, sorry we're late."

They all offered waves and smiles as BlackStar slid in beside her, hastily snatching up the last slice of pizza and stuffing it in his face. "Hey guys." He mumbled around a mouthful, little bits of cheese and crust flying onto the table. Of course, Maka began berating him, his only defense coming in filthily spit insults.

Just as BlackStar was about to come back with another so-called 'burn', a tan hand collided with the side of his face. "Move your ass over." Said the stranger, hip checking BlackStar when he wouldn't move right away. Maka's brows furrowed in confusion, who the hell was this guy? With tattoos crawling in sleeves up both of his arms and snowy white hair and red eyes and piercings shining all along the shell of his ears down. This wasn't anyone she knew, but everyone else seemed totally at ease with his presence, so she tried to relax and maybe catch his name. Maka only zoned back in once the conversation was already in swing.

"-ke working with Maka?" Kim asked with a wink, nudging her with her elbow.

The table must've taken her surprised look the wrong way, so she eloquently said, "Wait, what?"

Kim grinned as she rolled her eyes, "I was just asking our boy Soul here how he likes working with you, all that's considering."

Maka looked at the white haired stranger and before she could stop herself, blurted out, "You look _really_ different."

She felt her face flush as he ran his hand through the unruly mop he called his hair, "It's called makeup," He said, dark eyes the color of rubies flickering over her before meeting her gaze once again. "Though it looks like you've never heard of it."

Her jaw clenched, and Harvar gently put his hand on her knee and squeezed-encouraging her to keep calm, even as BlackStar whooped and smacked Soul between his shoulder blades, cackling all the while, as if that had been the best comeback there ever was. "Obviously you're a fan of it, there guyliner."

Soul hurriedly reached up and wiped at his eye, looking down as his clean hand and growling when he realized he'd been played. Again, BlackStar laughed obnoxiously as Maka crossed her arms with a smug grin. "Oh man! She fuckin' got you!" Said the blue haired monkey of a man, slinging his arm around Soul's neck. As his laughter died down, he wiped his eyes and sighed. "Alright, alright. Enough of this pissing match; let get some drinks up in this bitch!"

A lemon smacked BlackStar in the forehead, and they all shifted in their seats to find Blair glaring daggers at their booth. "Shut the hell up or you're barred!"

"You can't bar me! Harvar's mom owns this place!"

This time, she threw a lime at him, which hit Soul instead. Blair didn't seem to take notice. "No, that just means I can't bar  _him_. You're free game."

Soul rubbed his forehead and dug his elbow into BlackStar's side. "Shut the fuck up before I shove this lime down your throat."

Wisely, BlackStar shut his mouth.

* * *

 

About three hours, two pizzas, and one too many shots later, three of the seven friends were thoroughly plastered, while the others were just tipsy enough to forget that they all had to work in the hot Florida sun the next morning.

That being said, Maka seemed to conveniently forget her borderline-hate for a certain white-haired jerkface. So, somewhere between BlackStar doing a handstand on the bar and inevitably falling into the top shelf liquor, Blair’s fist quickly becoming acquainted with his face, Tsubaki’s profuse apologies, and Jackie almost setting herself on _fire_ \- Maka found herself almost completely in Soul’s lap, her fingers carefully tracing his freshly shaven jaw while she tried to force her eyes to focus.

Soul took a small drink of her fruity-something-or-other as he watched a sober Harvar desperately try to calm Blair down before his mother’s restaurant became a crime scene. From the corner of his eyes, he watched Maka’s eyes stare at his jaw, trying and failing to suppress a grin.

“What?” Maka demanded almost immediately, fingers stilling right below his ear. “Why’re you smiling?”

“I dunno,” He shrugged, his fingers tap tap tapping on her knee. “Only a few hours ago you hated my guts, and now you’re playing with my face without hurting it.”

That, obviously, prompted her to grab his earlobe and give it a tug.

“Well, that’s because...because..” Maka paused, seeming to lose her train of thought as her brows furrowed and her fingertips danced along his jaw again.

“Because-?”

“Oh! Because you’re not a jerk. Well, you kinda are, but not. Y’know? Plus you’re pretty attractive too. And you’re not a jerk. But you are.”

“Well, that’s...nice-?” He wasn’t sure how to feel about that. The hot girl from work who totally hated his guts, didn’t seem to totally hate his guts, and also found him attractive without all of the makeup and wigs and contacts-still kinda thought he was a jerk. To be fair, though, he kinda was.

Maka grabbed his face in both of her hands and forced him to look at her, mouth set in a determined line and eyes serious. “No, no. You’re not listening to me. You’re cute- hot, actually, especially without all the makeup.” She amended, seeming to stay oblivious as his face turned red under her palms. “But you’re kindof a jerk, but that’s okay! I’m a jerk. All of my friends are jerks. So it only makes sense for me to maybe like a jerk, too.”

"You like me?”

“I said maybe. I maybe like you.” Her lips screwed up a little bit as she looked down at his chin. “I think I drank just a little too much to be sure.”

Just as Soul felt all hope begin to go up in smoke, she said, “I _do_ think you’ll have to kiss me to help me figure it out.”

His lips stretched into a sharp toothed grin as he leaned forward, one hand coming up to cradle her jaw as he murmured, “That much, I can do.”


	9. Cheddar the Goldfish

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tumblr Ask Meme; "you’re a vet and i’m pleading with you to save my goldfish and you’re the first vet i’ve visited to not ask me if i’m sure i don’t want to go and buy another goldfish for three dollars" for soma

Of all the joys and wonders that come with being an uncle, Soul never thought that bringing a three dollar goldfish to the vet at two in the morning would be one of them. Really, he probably should’ve expected it- this _was_ Wes’ kid he was dealing with here, and any true blooded Evans child will do whatever it takes to get their way no matter what time of the day or night. Of course, that meant driving all over town in search of a vet that was both open at this ungodly hour and willing enough to actually give them an answer as to what's wrong with the fish and not suggest buying a new one. Gilbert Evans was not a child to take no for an answer and simply buying another fish was _not_ an option- it was like trying to buy another uncle when he got sick and how would you like _that_? So, Soul had given given into the child currently wrapped around his calf with the best damn puppy eyes he’s ever seen.

“Sir, this is a goldfish.” The secretary deadpans, beholding the glass bowl currently dripping water down onto the otherwise spotless counter, matching droplets already spattering all over his slippers and _totally cool_ piano printed pajama bottoms. Soul sighs, running a hand across his forehead as the woman smacks her gum. “Just go by another one.”

Before he can even reply, his nephew responds with an outraged cry that was much too loud for the amount of sleep he didn’t currently have. Soul pats the boy’s head affectionately, desperately trying to soothe his worries with minimal casualties- the fish included. “Look, I know it’s a goldfish but it’s _his_ goldfish so can you please just- just _look_ at it? Tell us what's wrong with it?”

The secretary, Liz, as her nametag reads, sighs and squints at the fish, pushing up on her forearms to get a better look. She glances at Soul with a look that bespoke of both the death of him and the fish, then at the tearful child clinging to his leg. With another dramatic sigh, she presses a button on the pad beside her laptop, and says into the little mic, “Doctor Albarn, there’s a patient here to see you.”

“ _If it’s Hiro, please tell him that I am a veterinarian, and it’s not within my job title to look at his infected piercings.”_

Soul holds back an amused snort as Liz says, “No, it’s an actual patient here with his, er, goldfish.”

The doctor on the other end falls silent, in what he hopes is an indication that she was on her way to help out their little problem.

Sure enough, after approximately five minutes of awkward silence punctuated by the continued popping and smacking of Liz’s gum and the tap tap tapping of Gil’s little finger against the glass of the fishbowl, Doctor Albarn arrives; blonde hair appropriately mussed and pulled into a haphazard bun that tilts dangerously to the side, a paw-patterned robe pulled tight around herself as she yawns in the doorway. She shuffles out into the waiting room, bunny rabbit slippers trailing their ears along the ground behind her, and she gives Soul a sleepy smile in greeting before squatting down next to Gil.

“Alright, so what seems to be the problem?”

“Cheddar is fat and now he can’t swim.” He says matter-of-factly, looking both disappointed and sad, and the doctor presses her lips together to hold back a smile.

“Ah, I see. Can I take a look at, um, Cheddar?” Gil nods and steps back a little as she peers inside the bowl, brows drawn together, her hand reaching in the water to brush against the fish, watching as it bobs in the water. Liz makes a face and turns back to her computer, no doubt writing up Soul’s bill already. How much did it cost for a vet to tell you that your fish was dead and you wasted their time? The doctor purses her lips as she withdraws her hand, wiping it against her robe as she turns to regard both Soul and his little nephew. “Well.”

“Well?” Soul prompts, hoping the good doctor has the decorum to break it gently that there was nothing she could do.

“Well,” she says again, slipping her hands into the pockets of her robe. “He has dropsy.”

“He...He has what now?”

“Dropsy. It's a semi-common infection where the fish’s liver doesn't process the water it lives in and the salt in its body, so the water starts to build up.” She side-eyes Gil, “Hence, he's fat and can't swim.”

Gil grabs the edge of her robe in his tiny hands, “Will he be okay?”

Doctor Albarn sighs, shoulders slumping a little. “Usually by this stage...it's too late to do anything.” Soul closes his eyes and waits for the hammer to drop. Waiting for that same suggestion that they've gotten from literally everyone else. Gil’s bottom lip begins to quiver, but the doctor simply pats his head. “But, if you'd like, I can keep him here overnight in a quarantine tank. I can't promise anything, but _sometimes_ …” She shrugs, “Miracles can happen.”

“Yes! Yes, yes, yes! Please help Cheddar!”

She smiles at Gil, watching as he talks animatedly at his goldfish about how he was going to make it and how the nice doctor would fix his “droopsy” and his “lilvwer”. Doctor Albarn folds her arms across her chest as she sidles up beside Soul, mouth pinched as she chews on her lip. He quirks a brow and she sighs before saying, “Look, the chances of the fish living aren't very good. The quarantine tank is the most effective solution, but even then it's a shot in the dark for all the good it'll do.”

“Okay, yeah.” He says, tripping over his own tongue a little as she levels him with a stare so green he might as well have never seen the color before. God, he needed to get some sleep. Next he’ll start getting wax poetic about the life and death of Cheddar the Goldfish. “I mean, I figured as much,” he amends, “it's just that he wouldn't take “no” for an answer and he demanded we saw a vet.” She huffs a laugh, watching as Liz points at the fish before jerking her thumb towards a door leading to the back. The doctor nods, and with surprising kindness, Liz asks Gil to help her get Cheddar situated in his new tank, and they disappear through the swinging door.

“I know this isn't exactly the most professional thing to say but...if you'd like, I can buy a new fish tomorrow morning if Cheddar doesn't make it.” Soul gapes her like, well, like a fish on land. Was she serious? Her face begins to heat to a pretty shade of pink and she quickly begins to backtrack, “I mean, you probably don't want to give him false hope or anything like that- which I completely understand! I'm sorry I shouldn't have suggested-”

“Wait- no, that's- I mean, that's actually really thoughtful...in a morbid sort of way.” Doctor Albarn’s face absolutely burns, and she stammers over another apology before Soul can get a handle on how she might’ve twisted his meaning. He throws out his hands, trying to placate her, “Wait, shit, no- that’s really nice, I mean it, its just- fuck.” He sighs, prays to whatever deity might be listening to grant him mercy and either kill him now or give him the damn self-control to speak without choking on her own tongue. “That’s really sweet of you to care enough to replace the fish, and yes, please. If he dies, I would really appreciate it. Like, a lot.”

Slightly better- one point goes to Soul Evans for keeping his cool for five fucking seconds.

Her shoulders slump a little in something like relief, and the smile she flashes makes him a little weak in the knees. Shit, she's cute. “Alrighty then!” She says with a clap of her hands. “I guess since that's settled, there's nothing to be done until morning.”

Soul checks his watch to find it edging closer to three-thirty, sighs, and dreads the drive home. “Okay, cool. Uh, how much is this gonna cost me, exactly?”

“Oh! Um, well, since it's just a goldfish how about...twenty bucks?”

"For real? That's so much cheaper than I was expecting!” He rummages around for his wallet, but she stops him with a small laugh.

“Don't worry about it right now, though. You can pay me tomorrow when you pick him back up- say, around four?”

“Yeah, absolutely! We'll be here.” At that moment, Gil comes tearing out of the back room, much too hyper for the late hour. He crashes into Soul’s legs, the perfect height to buckle his knees and send him crashing into the good doctor.

Instead of sending her sprawling to the floor like he expected, she easily supports his weight, hands hooked under his armpits. Soul hangs his head, face burning, as Gil untangles himself from his uncle’s legs. Alright, fine. Soul: zero. Life: thousands and counting. Pack up and go home because he’s obviously not walking away from this one with his dignity. Slowly, carefully, Soul manages to get his feet under him again enough to stand, doing his best to ignore her muffled giggles and- _oh god she must be fucking ripped._ His face flushes brighter.

He brushes himself off, places a hand on his nephew’s shoulder to hold him still, and says around a strangled laugh, “Haha yeah anyway it’s pretty late and I think it’s probably time I get this little scamp home.” Scamp? How old was he? Eighty? “His dad would kill me if he found out we were out this late.”

“Oh! I thought he was yours.” Doctor Albarn says, albeit a bit sheepishly.

“No! Nope, just my nephew. No kids of my own!” God he was going hysterical. End his misery now before he could embarrass himself further. Doctor Albarn merely gives him a tight lipped smile, obviously doing her best to hold back more laughter at his expense. “Aha, anyway...we really should be going. Thank you so much for taking Parmesan-”

“Cheddar.”

“What?”

She laughs, “The fish. His name is Cheddar. You said Parmesan.”

“Yeah, right, of course. We need to leave before I say or doing anything else that’ll make me look stupid. Okay, bye.” Soul grabs Gil by his shoulders and steers him toward the door, a headache blooming at his temples due to his own idiocy. The sooner he gets home, the sooner this awful encounter will end and maybe he can pretend to have his shit together when they come by later that afternoon.

“Wait!” The doctor calls after him, and he stops in his tracks, mere inches away from the freedom beyond the door, and he glances over his shoulder. “Can we have your name and phone number- er, for our records, of course.”

Shit. He didn’t even tell her his name. Way to go.

The walk of shame he does back toward Liz’s desk is possibly the most embarrassing thing he’s had to endure all night.

Later that day, after getting some much needed sleep and the sun is high in the summer sky, Soul and Gil head back to Doctor Albarn’s clinic to find the fate of Cheddar the goldfish. Surprisingly, he made a full recovery. At least, that’s what the doctor told them. The doctor who, by the way, managed to look even cuter when dressed in her full doctor’s getup and her hair braided down her back, was named Maka. And before they left with the miraculously cured Cheddar, she slipped him a piece of paper with her personal number on it- in case of other fish-related emergencies _or_ if he wanted to grab a coffee sometime.

How soon is too soon to give her call?


	10. Casualties of a Punk-Rock Moshpit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tumblr prompt: SoMa prompt- I broke your nose in a mosh pit

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact: this prompt is easily 4-5 years old, and its been sitting in my inbox all this time. 
> 
> Moral of the story? Never give up hope that an author will eventually get to that prompt you sent them. It could happen.

The first girl he meets in Death City that isn’t his roommate’s girlfriend or his boss, breaks his fucking nose. Which, yeah, that would suck no matter the _who_ or the _why_ , but the fact that it was during a half-assed drunken moshpit to a shitty cover of American Idiot and by a cute girl who was probably the size of his arm...well, let’s just say that he’s gonna tell BlackStar to shove it next time he tries to take him out _anywhere_.

So, here he sits. Blood covering his face, the aforementioned cute girl apologizing profusely at his side, and totally unable to see a doctor despite the emergency room waiting area being totally deserted on this fine Friday night. Oh, and his phone is dead- the icing on this goddamn cake of an experience. Really, he just wants to go home. A broken nose is a whole lotta bullshit, sure, but he could be sitting at home and still have the same amount of medical attention provided to it. The girl next to him--Max, he thinks she said her name was? It was hard to hear her over the blood pounding in his head and the cover band’s unnecessary screamo rendition of what _was_ one of Soul’s favorite Green Day jams. Anyway, Max(?) apologizes for the umpteenth time, and it takes a full count of three before he can fit a word in edgewise.

“Look,” he says, albeit not without sounding like his head is so stuffed he might as well have buttons for eyes, “it’s fine. Really. I know it was an accident.”

Max sighs, slumping in the shitty plastic chair, and she runs a hand through her hair. “I just feel really, _really_ bad.” Her lips press together as she suddenly stands and strides toward the nurse’s station, “And it's not making it any better that wE CAN’T GET ANY HELP OUT HERE!” She hollers, banging her fist on the counter as she leans over its edge far enough that her combat booted feet dangle an inch above the ground. Soul sighs, or maybe he just breathes; it’s kinda hard to tell even for him. He’s half tempted just to get up and book it on home, kick Blackstar’s ass for forcing him out of the apartment, and lay up in bed until his nose fixes itself or he dies--whichever comes first--but before he can really commit one way or another, a nurse finally makes her way to the counter.

“Oh, I’m so sorry!” Frets the woman, barely tall enough to see over the counter and sporting some wicked looking eyepatch. She pats at her hair absently, attempting to smooth out with the absentmindedness of someone who _definitely_ got laid when they shouldn’t have. Jesus Christ, he is so fucked. The nurse shuffles some papers on her desk, making idle work of her hands so that when she discretely adjusts her scrubs, it's not that noticeable. At least, it shouldn’t be. She looks up at Max, back down at her desk, then double-takes and looks at Max again. “Oh! Maka, what’re you doing here?”

Shit, her name was _Maka_?

Maka, as he now knew her name was, jerks her thumb over her shoulder. “My, uh, friend’s nose is broken.” She winces when the nurse makes a noise not dissimilar to a squawk and flits around the counter and through the door, and when he hand grabs his chin and tilts his face up to look at her, Soul is surprised both by the gentleness of her touch and the calluses on her hands. The nurse--Marie, as her nametag reads--clicks her tongue, whether at all the blood on his face or at the actual damage done, he isn’t sure, but he doesn’t think he’s mistaken in thinking that there’s genuine worry in her one visible eye. “Awe, what happened to you?”

Soul’s eyes flicker to Maka, sees her face flush a little bit in embarrassment, so he shrugs. “Dunno. Think I took an elbow to the face while I was at the bar.” Marie’s lips purse, very clearly not buying it, but she doesn’t pry.

“Alright, well, the doctor be ready to see you in a minute. Until then, just go ahead and come with me and we’ll see what we can do to clean you up.” She puts her hand on his back as he rises and they wander off back through the pair of swinging double doors and, surprisingly, Maka follows obediently on his heels.

Well, okay. He kinda figured she would’ve went ahead and dipped out the second he finally got medical attention, but hey, the more the merrier.

Marie leads the two of them back to an examination room, gets him set up on the crinkling paper of the shitty little bed, and sets to work on cleaning his face with _way_ too many antiseptic wipes. He winces the closer she gets to his nose, she apologizes with a wince of her own, but in the end he sucks it up and lets her do as she pleases. The sooner she this shit is over with, the sooner he can head home and sleep this entire clusterfuck of a night off. He might even shoot off a quick text to Wes to tell him that, yes, he was right in the fact that Soul was absolutely fucking _insane_ to move all the way out here. Weird. He’d have thought it would take longer than two months for the moment to arise, but hey--Soul’s always been something of an overachiever.

Once Marie has successfully cleaned all the blood off his face (but not his poor shirt; that shit’s ruined) she can finally see the damage Maka inflicted in a half-drunk pop-rock induced mosh pit fiasco. Maka sucks in a breath through her teeth. He chances a glance to the mirror hung above the sink behind Marie; there are bruises blooming darkly beneath his eyes, and the crook in his nose is pretty damn impressive, if a little hidden beneath the swelling. Well, he certainly was a sight to behold, that was for sure. The nurse gives him a little rueful smile as she tosses away the pink-stained wipes and moves to the sink to wash her hands.

“Alright, well, Doctor Stein is going to be treating you tonight. I’m going to go grab him real quick and pick up some forms I’m going to need you to fill out before we discharge you, and then we’ll go from there.” She gives him another kind smile before disappearing out the door, and Maka’s crowding him in an instant.

“God, I’m so fucking sorry.” She says, squinting a little as she gets a little too close to his face for his liking. “This is actually worse than I thought it was. Jesus.”

He attempts a laugh, backtracks when it makes pain blossom and bloom out from the center of his face, and instead settles for the most reassuring smile he can muster. “Listen, I told you it’s alright; don’t even worry about it.”

She gives him a look like whatever it was he was trying to do wasn’t going to work, and when she rocks back on her heels and tucks her hands in the pockets of her leather jacket, he knows he’s in for some deep shit. “Look, let me make it up to you somehow. There’s not really any good enough excuse or apology for what I did--accident or no.”

Soul stares at her for a long minute, considers telling her to make it up to him by going and buying him a water from the vending machine out in the lobby or giving him forty-seven cents exactly--something small enough that she might let it drop, but he’s pretty sure neither of those would fly in her book. “You’re really not gonna let this go, are you?”

“Nope.”

He huffs a breath, one much more deliberate than the others--just to make sure she knew he was, in fact, exasperated, and not simply having difficulty breathing. Which he was, but she didn’t need to know that. “Fine. Fuck, I don’t know. I don’t want anything.” A nose that wasn’t broken, for starters, but saying that would just make her feel bad and it wouldn’t really help anything, so he keeps his mouth shut. He’s still technically on his parent’s insurance, thank fuck, so it’s not like she could pay for this little visit; not that he’d ask her to _anyway,_ medical bills are ridiculous, but it’s not exactly like he can think of anything she could do.

Maka impatiently taps her foot against the tile, her tongue stuck in her cheek as she stares off over his shoulder. She hums low in her throat as she thinks, and just as she opens her mouth to voice whatever it is on her mind, the doctor walks in. And... _ho-ly fuck._ There’s no possible way that this man is actually his doctor. Easily six-foot-too-fucking-many, gray hair that doesn’t seem to stem from age and his face a patchwork of scars--Soul has to be hallucinating. He has to be. Especially when Maka’s face breaks into a sunny smile and he pulls her into a one-armed hug, a smile of his own plastered on his face as Marie trails in behind him.

What the absolute _fuck_. Soul knew this city was weird, of course he did, but this...this is going a bit beyond weird cultural-norms. Marie must notice his fish-out-of-water look, because she takes pity on him and ducks around the two as they begin conversing animatedly. She places his paperwork down on the bed beside him, “He’s her godfather.” She says, watching the two of them with a small smile. “Don’t pay them any mind; he’s going to wash up and then we’ll get your nose set and you’ll be on your way.”

“Oh, uh, thanks.” He says, watching the doctor wearily as he finishes washing his hands and pulls on a pair of gloves; still talking to Maka as he makes his way over and begins preparing whatever it is that he needs to fix Soul’s nose.

“So,” The doctor casts a glance to the papers on the bed, “Soul. How’d this happen?”

Before he can answer, Maka pipes up from behind him. “It was me.” Well, shit. Okay then, he was going to let her off the hook, even more so since she knew everyone here, but when the doctor immediately takes a half-step away from him with the look of a man who knew full-well that nobody would think to check for the new guy in the morgue.

Goddammit.

Thankfully, Maka laughs. “No, no! Not like that. We were, ah, dancing too close and I accidentally elbowed him.” Her face turns a pretty shade of red, but it’s really got nothing on the deep bruising he’s sporting. Well, they certainly make a colorful pair. Stein makes a thoughtful sort of hum, resuming his examination; gently prodding around Soul’s nose, checking the dilation of his eyes, and feeling the angle in which his septum now sat thanks to a certain blonde _someone_. He feels her draw closer, her worry a physical thing that brushes down his back a raises goosebumps on his skin. “How bad is it?”

“Well, it’s not great.” Stein says casually, looking between the two of them. “It’s definitely broken, but not so bad that it’ll need any surgery.” They both let out a breath. “However, I am going to have to manually reset it, so that it’ll heal properly.”

“Well, fuck.” He doesn’t really think before he says it, but Stein just nods solemnly, so he must be correct in his assumption that this wasn’t gonna be fun. “Alright then, let's get this shit over with.” Stein briefly quirks a brow at him, but at Soul’s definitive nod, he shrugs.

“Alright then; on the count of three.” Stein puts his fingers on either side of his nose, not yet putting any pressure. Soul closes his eyes; prepares himself for what was probably going to hurt more than getting his nose broken in the first place. “One.” Soul sucks in a breath, holds it. “Two.” He prepares for three, mentally steels himself, but three never comes--instead replaced by the sudden pressure and pain and pinching sort of crunch as Stein jerks his nose back into place.

“ _FUCK!_ ” Soul jerks away on instinct, hand flying up to protect his face. “Mother _fuck_ that hurt.”

“Sorry. Thought it’d be better that way.” Stein says with a shrug, seeming less than sorry. Soul grunts in response and uncovers his nose as the doctor reaches for him again, though this time, he’s much gentler with his face’s wellbeing. A few gentle prods and slightly odd caresses of his nose later, and Soul’s cleared to get the fuck out and go the fuck home.

Okay, maybe it was said in slightly more professional terminology, but it doesn’t really matter. Soul is a free man--wait, fuck...he has to sign a couple forms, confirm his insurance provider, update his cell number...okay, _now_ he’s a free man. A free man, who’s going the fuck home maybe forever. Hopefully to forever forget this godawful night.

He thanks Doctor Stein and the nurse Marie for their time and help, Maka says her own goodbyes, and then the two leave as they came--albeit slightly less battered. There’s a bit of an awkward silence as they walk back to her car, and they both move to break it at the same time.

“Hey, could you give me a ride home?”

“Let me take you out to dinner.”

There’s a pause, in which they both try to catch up to what the fuck just happened.

Wait...did she just ask him out?

He stops in his tracks and whips his head so fast he’s pretty sure he just gave himself whiplash. “Did you just ask me out?” Maka’s face burns, her cheeks puffing up a little bit as she buries her hands in the pockets of her jacket and rocks back on her heels.

“I mean, yeah. I dunno.” She scuffs her foot against the ground. “It’s the best way I could think to make it up to you. Food makes everything better.”

His tongue feels floppy and totally useless as he flounders for an answer, and unfortunately for him, the most obvious one that pops into his head and also out of his mouth is: “Hell yes!”

“Huh?” She says, startled, of course, by his absolutely insane way of overzealously answering a casual question--because he’s an idiot.

He coughs, clears his throat, as if that could possibly save face. “Uh, yeah. Yeah, no, that’d be cool.” Maka’s face breaks out into another of those sunny smiles, and Soul can’t help but to feel like maybe getting his nose broken was kinda worth it if it meant he was going to get a second chance to see this girl, and hopefully pull a couple more of those smiles out of her.


End file.
